this one calf.

She was born blind.

We didn't know it until day 3.

Ian's kicking himself for not noticing sooner, but he shouldn't be.  At least he noticed. Period.

She lived in our laundry room {aka mud room ... also know as the entry to our home} ... for 2 days.

She brought hope to Mack and Mason's world.

She brought adventure.

She brought a bunch of extra love I didn't know they had.

She brought a mess.

But don't we all.

By Sunday morning I was a bit exasperated by her faint mooing sound {which sounded more like a cry for help or maybe even pain medication} and her attempts to get to her feet.

I was discouraged by my own problems, miscommunications, and exhaustion ... and her lack of strength seemed to pull me down even further.

The boys hovered over her, petted her, showed her books and covered her up - over and over again.

I watched with regret knowing she probably wouldn't live.

I detest watching others suffer ... including cows.

I had little hope.

Ian would come in and feed her, while trying to convince himself that she was doing better.

I would just watch.

I wanted to care.

I wanted to nurture her ... but I couldn't make myself.

I was so stuck in my little pity party of dealing with the messes that seemed to be piling {literally} all over the house whenever I turned my head, that one little dying calf was the least of my concern.

And then, when the mooing stopped and her body stopped moving I did the most pathetic thing of all.

I sat in the laundry room and just stared at her.

I was lifeless, and so was she.
......................................................

A normal ranchers wife probably would have been the one nursing it back to life instead of wishing it was in the barn or waiting for her husband to come in and deal with it.

An average ranchers wife probably wouldn't have sighed a sigh of relief when the mooing stopped.

A typical ranchers wife isn't me.

..............................

I'm still trying to figure out how to live this life I've been given.

The disasters.
 
The accidents.
 
The fights for life.
 
The job that isn't a job, but a lifestyle.
 
Someday, I'll be the one covering the sick calf up with blankets and propping its head up with towels.

Someday, I'll be the one nurturing the heck out of the sweet little calf that has made it's way into my home like my husband and boys were all weekend long.
 
Someday, I'll be more about them and the {bigger picture} and less about me.
 
And I sure hope someday is sooner than later.